


Twilight Missed

by moonssan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ Storyline Event, Mysterious, based on the ateez storyline prompts, kinda halateez but also not really, yunhos brother is missing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonssan/pseuds/moonssan
Summary: If it was the last thing he’d do, he’d make his way back to that dream-like utopia.He just couldn’t do it alone. So, he gathered them around him, men who he knew came from hopelessness and could only dream to dream.
Kudos: 3





	Twilight Missed

Memory

It’s peculiar, the way the cool metal stings his palm. It’s not like it’s cold, really – the bracelet is barely colder than his skin. It’s more like the lingering energy she’s left behind with the bracelet is digging claws into his soul. He sweeps his gaze across the metro station, letting the smell of sweat and perfume rush over him as the train departs, pulling the humid air behind it.

As the platform clears, Seonghwa lets his head lean back against the pillar behind him. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, as he closes his fist around the silver chain bracelet. He’s not sure where it came from; all he felt was a quick brush against his hand, whoever gave it to him disappearing instantly into the departing crowd. Opening his eyes, he watches the clouds chase each other across the cotton candy sky, watching and listening as trains come and go, their passengers often bumping into him with little more consideration than a backwards glance.

The trains. One catches his eye as it barrels through the station, a cacophonous rush of steaming air echoing against the tracks. He knows he’s supposed to get on one; at least, he thinks he should. But he can’t bring himself to remember why.

Because really, where is he going? He can barely recall what he’s supposed to be doing. He flips the bracelet around in his hand, letting his thumb press the links into his palm as he considers.

Nothing seems important anymore, Seonghwa thinks. It’s all so minimal, moments of his days ebbing and flowing as predictably as the crowds around him. He often finds himself crawling into bed at the end of the day, unsure of if he even accomplished anything since he woke up.

It’s not that he can’t remember. It’s more that he hasn’t done anything worth remembering. He won’t remember the man standing across the tracks from him, either.

_That orange jacket stood out amongst the crowd, and now that he’s alone, it’s like a beacon, drawing his eyes towards him. He’s fiddling with something in his hand, as he has been for an hour, his head tilted back to hit the wall behind him. The man’s confusion is visible even from his vantage point, several metres away._

__

_Seonghwa, he muses, is a confused man. That makes this easier. The stranger’s vision is obscured slightly when the next train comes in, and his eyes narrow over his black mask._

__

_He gets on the train._

__

He gets on the train.

Brother

His feet turn the streets to shattering glass as he races through the crowds. Yunho’s vision is blurred by the rain pouring down, the painted cement slippery as he dodges cars and other pedestrians. He almost loses his footing once, twice, three times, but can’t bring himself to slow.

He’s worked so hard. Every day, everything he’s done has been for them. He owes his brother, his family, the world, and Yunho wants to make sure he gives him nothing less.

As he skids to a stop in front of his apartment block, Yunho puts his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His run across town has left him heaving, his lungs working double time to make up for the oxygen his anticipation has stolen.

_An eyebrow quirks above a black mask, the stranger watching as the man collects himself, before he hops up the stairs and unlocks the apartment building door._

All he can think of as he rushes up the stairs to their unit is the email waiting in his inbox, bolded and unread. He knows who it’s from, and he thinks he knows what the response is, but he promised he’d wait so they could read it together. He stops dead in his tracks, excitement fizzling to anxiety as he stares at the white door of his home.

He knows he locked it this morning – so why is it unlocked?

Hesitantly, Yunho nudges the door open, poking his head around the corner to peer into the familiar kitchen. He can feel his heart rising to his throat as he goes through the empty rooms.

The only thing he finds is silence, and a messily scrawled note on the counter. Slowly, he crouches down, his back leaning against the cabinets as he rests his head in his hands.

Breathe in, breathe out, he tells himself.

_He’s still there, his hat dripping frigid rainwater onto his shoulders as he watches the front door. Nobody notices him on the street corner. As he watches Yunho emerge again, paper crumpled in one hand, phone in the other, he smirks beneath the mask._

__

_Desperation works almost as well as confusion, he figures._

__

His phone still is open to his email inbox, the email from KQ Entertainment flagged as unread.

Time

If there are stars, he cannot see them. Anything from above gets blocked by trees and electricity, the buzz of the streetlights muffling his thoughts like their light muffles the moonlight.

He doesn’t know when it changed. He used to love to stargaze, the night sky soothing his nerves and bringing ancient peace within reach. But lately, when he sees the darkness beyond the skyscrapers, it’s nothing short of depressing. All he can feel is emptiness, the darkness echoing far louder than the stars ever did.

He watches, almost as if detached from himself, as his shoe scuffs against the crack in the sidewalk. Too many things to think about, too many things to see, and yet he worries about the mark left on the toe. A huff of air passes through his lips.

You’re being silly, Yeosang, he thinks to himself. It’s just a shoe. But he also can’t help but think it’s not just a shoe, it’s a perfect metaphor for every little thing going on in his head. A million small toe-scuffs adding up to mimic the electric streetlight buzz that fills his head at all hours of the day.

The stars don’t help anymore.

_It’s funny, the stranger thinks, how people stand out. Yeosang’s jacket, the blue highlighting him against the night. He’s a striking figure, day or night, his shy demeanor not impacting his charisma._

_  
_

He’s not sure what his plan is, anymore. He used to have one, he knows that, but for ages all he can think about is getting through one day, one step at a time.

_He watches as he puts one foot in front of the other, feet almost dragging on the ground. His eyes are downcast, tired, the stranger can see from his spot across the street. Different to his own vigilant gaze._

Yeosang looks up to the stars, once, in hopes that they may shine through the black veil between them.

_Exhaustion will work just fine._

_  
_

Resolution

He’s not sure what to do anymore.

When his thoughts spiral downwards and every breath become a chore, it’s hard to keep going. Trees speeding by outside the car window, his head rattling from where he leans against the glass, he can’t help but wonder why. He’s not sure why he feels this way, why he’s so done with the life he lives and the person he is.

But as San watches another stop light disappear behind him, he realizes that he can’t keep doing this anymore.

_It’s been hard to watch, even for the stranger, so used to trial and suffering. Watching the bright young man turn in on himself, days passing by and San growing quiet, his discontent visible on his face. Except to those who should have noticed._

_  
_

San doesn’t think his friends have noticed, nor his family. Not through any fault of theirs – he doesn’t want them to know. Doesn’t want them to think his bone-weary dread of each and every day is anyone else’s fault, because it’s not. His life is good, he figures. He just hates it.

_He’s not even looking at him, now. His black suit at home, colourful tie-dye pulled on instead today. He just wanted some coffee._

_  
_

They’ve stopped at a red light when he sees him. San’s not sure who he is, and honestly, he doesn’t think it matters. But the pop song he’s heard eighteen thousand times is the radio soundtrack to his mom’s recount of the trip to the grocery store – he was there, he knows what happened – and the stranger’s so comfortable in his bright tie-dyed sweater, the pinks and oranges clashing with his hair.

It’s such a bold choice, and San looks down at his own plain blue hoodie. Sure, it’s his favourite one, but he wishes he could pull off something so bold, so carefree.

And just like that, he’s done. Before the stoplight turns, he grabs his phone, his wallet, and opens the door.

_Had he been looking for San today, maybe he would have seen it coming. Maybe not. But instead, he’s startled when he’s tapped on the shoulder, and whirls around to find him staring right back at him._

__

_He’s the only one who’s seen him. And that’s a welcome break, for him. Maybe this one will be easy._

__

_San’s determination will be a treat._

__

Diary

Mingi’s always known what his future would hold, it was never up for debate. Get a stable (if boring,) job, bring home a decent (nothing crazy,) amount of money at the end of the week. Help support his family, his parents, and stick around. When you know what’s coming, why bother hoping for anything else?

He knows he used to dream bigger. But now, he can’t even remember the stars he hoped to reach for. At some point, he was always told, he had to be realistic.

And so, he was.

Any time he looks in the mirror, sees his face worn from a long day at a dead-end, mind-numbing job, he has to stop the hopes, the dreams, the what-ifs in their tracks. He doesn’t have the luxury to wish for more.

_He hasn’t seen them, not now. They watch as Mingi walks the exhausting path from his front door to his meaningless job, any trace of hope drained from his shoulders long before he stepped out the front door._

_They both know the feeling._

He has that feeling, at the nape of his neck. The feeling like someone’s watching you, looking at you. He spares a quick glance around the crowded café, but nobody stands out; his coworkers are hard at work, the patrons absorbed in their own businesses.

Nobody’s looking at you, he rationalizes. They never are.

_They always are. They come in ones or twos or sometimes threes, their plain clothes blending into the rest of the café’s customers. He hasn’t noticed them, not really, but they’ve noticed him. They recognize the look in his eyes._

Mingi finally allows himself to breathe once he clocks out for the day. It’s raining out, that soft evening rain where the sun is still shining softly but you can feel the droplets running off your hair. Even though he has to walk home, he doesn’t mind; it’s easy to be content when there’s nothing left to wish for. The weather is a small drop in a much larger pond of potential problems, so he figures he might as well enjoy the small amount of sun.

_They see it in him, that drive for more. He may have forgotten it, buried it so deep within himself that even he doesn’t feel it anymore._

__

_But they’ve all been long acquainted with hopelessness._

__

Choice

It’s been a while, Wooyoung figures, since the last time he did something right. Some days, when he stares at himself in the mirror, he wonders when he became the person looking back at him.

But he can’t bring himself to regret anything. What they’re doing, what they’ve done, none of it has hurt other people, he knows that. But he also knows their path is sharpened blade, and any false move could send all of them tumbling off the edge.

At least they’d be together. That’s what matters, now.

He’d never felt this type of camaraderie before; while he’d always been well liked, had plenty of friends, it had never felt like this. He didn’t think he’d have to die for them, but he knew he would if it came to it.

They were playing a dangerous game, after all.

He stares around the room, taking in the evidence of his strange existence. A bunkbed pushed against the wall, leaving room for textbooks and desks, black coats and hats draped over chairs.

It’s funny, he figures, that life is more comfortable now than it’s ever been.

_Wooyoung knows how he comes across – the black mask teaming up with the hat to cover his face, black coat contrasted by the chains hanging around his neck. When he’s next to Mingi, or any of them, really, he knows they stand out. And yet people’s eyes move past them like they’re not there at all. Willful ignorance, he wonders? Either way, it helps him._

__

Knowing where they’re going hasn’t made it easier. In truth, it never does. But with his teammates, he knows that they’ll figure something out, that they’ll make it work.

__

None of them can afford to lose this. He can’t waste time thinking about what could happen, what they might’ve been. Instead, they blaze on ahead, reaching for stars nobody’s sure are there.

__

He hasn’t forgotten where he came from, where any of them came from. The bleak cloud that had hovered over all their lives. As he changes, swapping out jeans for slacks, and finally pulls the dark mask to cover the bottom half of his face, he knows.

They may be wrong, _but this is right._

Wanderings

He isn’t sure of what to do anymore. Before, he’d had goals, hopes, a path he’d planned to take. Now, he has no idea. Things had changed.

The pebbled texture of the basketball against his fingertips is a familiar sense, one filled with nostalgia. Memories, of days long since passed beneath the hot summer sun, heat radiating off the asphalt and the gentle swish of the net. The basketball court is the same, with wooden benches lining the perimeter and a chain-link fence to hold in stray balls.

Jongho is the one who is different, he knows that now. Well, really, everything is, if he is being truthful with himself.

The basketball court may be a familiar sight, but its emptiness is still foreign.

_He hasn’t seen the figure standing near the trees. Jongho has no reason to recognize him, he knows, not from this distance. But he can’t help but hope he will._

__

_It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to his friend._

__

It’s been months since he’s heard from him. As days turned to weeks, to months, Jongho couldn’t help but let his worry turn to betrayal. He understood, even then, that his friend had always wanted out. He just thought they’d go together.

So now he’s lost, floating, his childhood tether missing.

_He never wanted to leave Jongho. Things had just happened so fast, the lure the masked man had laid before him too promising, too good to let go to waste. And then, he found himself adjusting to a new life, a new family, and new face he hid behind a mask of his own._

__

_He swore when he left, he’d come back for his friend. And he’s broken many promises, but he refuses to let this be one of them._

__

He’s sunk basket after basket, the bounce of the ball against the ground the only sound besides his breath. He’s not there, mentally, his thoughts a thousand miles away, struggling to come up with something, anything, he can aim for to get back on track.

He’s so far away, he misses the footsteps walking up behind him.

_“Jongho.”_

Masked

_It was just a dream, really. Isn’t everything, though? The sun’s heat, the lapping of the waves against the sand. It wasn’t supposed to be real._

__

_But he knew it was._

__

_He knew it was real, that dream, that treasure. He just didn’t know how to find it, search for it, where to go._

__

_But he knew he would._

__

_If it was the last thing he’d do, he’d make his way back to that dream-like utopia._

__

_He just couldn’t do it alone. So, he gathered them around him, men who he knew came from hopelessness and could only dream to dream._

__

_He found them, gathered them, united them._

__

_They’d fail or succeed together, now._

__

__

_But he knew they’d find it._

__

Dream

He didn’t live a fantastical life, never wanted it. He wanted to be comfortable, to have enough money to pay his bills, maybe get a cat one day. To have the time to work on his music, to have friends to share it with.

Hongjoong dreamed, but he dreamed simply.

Until. Until he woke up, his blankets twisted around him, his dreams filled with ships and beaches and unfamiliar faces that felt oh-so real. He could’ve sworn his face was pink from the heat of the sun, despite the night that flooded his room in darkness.

Well, near darkness. Unlike when he went to sleep, there was a blue tinge to the otherwise black ceiling, and he rolled over to see a glowing object he knew did not belong to him.

Hongjoong’s life wasn’t fantastical, until it was.

After that night, he was never one hundred percent sure of what he was doing; things that had seemed easy and commonplace before now gave him pause.

He couldn’t shake the feeling in his bones, that this was no longer the place, the time for him. That he was always meant to be elsewhere.

It was a shock for him, on a dreary Monday evening, to see the man waiting for the train. It had been months since that night, but he knew the man’s face as well as his own.

“Seonghwa,” he whispered in shock, the name barely louder than a breath. But somehow, he had to avert his gaze when Seonghwa heard him, his head twisting back and forth to figure out who was addressing him.

It was weeks before Hongjoong could approach him.

Slowly, he gathered the rest of them, those familiar faces from his dream, around him like ducklings. He needed them there, he knew.

When he had found them all, all seven of the men he saw in that first dream, he knew they were ready. So, he dug out the hourglass he’d found that first night.

And he flipped it over.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please go check out my twitter! @moonssan I'm planning a woosan social media au, as well as a longer seongjoong fic for here and will be updating on my acct! 
> 
> thank you for reading, id love any feedback and i hope you enjoyed!


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